


Here (in my arms)

by fantasmefantastic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, How Do I Tag, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, soft steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasmefantastic/pseuds/fantasmefantastic
Summary: Steve Rogers x fem!reader insert. You have unofficially joined the Avengers after a life of espionage & assassination. You don't know where you fit in this new life, and you don't quite trust yourself to accept the good things around you. (Especially the handsome, pure, perfect Captain America).





	1. here (in my arms)

**Author's Note:**

> title: Here (in my arms)  
> pairing: Steve Rogers/Captain America x Reader  
> disclaimer: I do not own anything in the MCU or the blink-and-you'll-miss-it references to other epic!love!stories! (i.e. The Dark Artifcies & Hunger Games).  
> notes: This is my first Ao3 post ever & my first reader insert fic. It is SHAMELESS SMUT, friends. I picture Y/N as a sort of Black Widow-like character. Also, it is suuuuper long because apparently I have a thing for writing sex scene w/ Cap BECAUSE WHO WOULDN'T. Do enjoy.

You have been with Avengers for some time now, living in Tony Stark’s elaborate tower in New York City. You have finally satisfied your sense of curiosity, having explored every inch of the Avengers Tower, and have decided that the ballroom is your favorite, because it has the best view of the city. That’s where you are now, standing next to a grand piano (which no one seems to play? Rich people, you scoff) looking out over the blanket of darkness, checkered by lights. It feels odd, to be warm and comfortable and well fed after so many years on the run. You feel like a stranger in your own skin, especially dressed in the trendy, frayed shorts and an over sized sweater, provided to you by none other than Pepper Potts. 

It was late; all of Stark’s employees had gone home for the day. Anyone not out on missions was probably asleep in bed, so you’re fairly confident you can play the piano without bothering anyone. For Natasha, it had been ballet—for you, it was piano.

Still, you love the ebony and ivory instrument. Gently, you begin to play an old tune of lost love. It is a melancholy sort of song, but it always makes you feel better with its quietness. 

“Y/N?” a soft, gentle voice calls.

You stop playing immediately and turn to see none other than Captain America in the center of the room. He is wearing a plain gray t-shirt under a blue plaid flannel with jeans and boots, despite the late hour. The flannel is a favorite of yours; it brings out the blue in his eyes. His hair is tousled and his expression is dark with concern. Your heart lurches to your throat.

God, he is so handsome you can’t even stand it. 

“Can I join you?” Steve asks. You don’t quite trust yourself to speak, so you just nod and begin to play again, a slow movement of your fingers across the keys. Steve moves quietly for such a big man; he eases himself down onto the bench beside you, your thighs not quite touching. “It’s strange,” he says, when you finish your song, “we’ve been living in the same place for a while now, but I feel like I haven’t seen you since we got here.”

He’s not wrong. You have been telling yourself that you are both busy—Steve with his missions and you with your training. You are good at what you do, but it’s going to take some work to catch up to Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

You’ve always been good at lying. Especially to yourself. The truth is, you are a bit afraid of Steve. Not of his strength or his righteousness, but because he is too good, too pure, and the force of your feelings for this man is terrifying.

Steve reaches over and rests his hand on your bare thigh. His thumb traces circles around the crisscross of scars there, from when you had tried to leap a barbed wire fence and missed, badly. That had been early on in your old life.

“You’re a million miles away, Y/N,” Steve murmurs.

You are powerless against his touch. You relax against him, your head drifting down to rest upon his broad shoulder. “I’m right here,” you whisper, hating how small and frightened your voice sounds.

“I didn’t know you could play piano,” he says, after a moment. You lift your head and focus on the keys once more. You begin to play on old song from the 1940's that you’ve caught him humming when he thinks no one is paying attention. If he recognizes it, Steve doesn’t say.

“You may have read my file,” she says, “but there’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Captain Rogers.” You meant for it to come out playfully, flirtatiously, but it just sounds a little sad.

You can see Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. You refuse to look at him, forcing yourself to stare at the keys as your hands dance across the ivory. Suddenly, gently, Steve reaches out and brushes your hair back, exposing the shoulder that your sweater is too big to cover. You are breathless with the moment, feeling as if you are on the edge of a precipice.

And when Steve presses a burning kiss to the curve of your skin, you fall.

You shudder, your beautiful music trailing off, as Steve warmly presses against you. You ache for him, to turn your lips to his and lose yourself in his kiss. You want him so badly, you have since the moment you laid eyes on him—

You turn away.

“Y/N,” Steve calls, sorrowfully, as you stand up and pace away from him. When you look back he is gazing at you like a lost, wounded puppy. “What it is?” he asks. “Please, talk to me.”

You surprise yourself as your eyes abruptly fill with tears. You turn away quickly, not wanting Steve to see you cry, but your beloved Captain America, with his heart of gold, is already on his feet beside you, putting his arms around you, drawing you into the safety of his embrace. You are powerless again, and allow yourself to be held. Pathetic, part of you thinks, the damsel in distress falling for the golden hero. If only your teachers could see you know.

“I’m a monster,” you whisper. 

“No,” Steve says, simply, gently.

“You’ve seen my file, you’ve seen what I’ve done, I don’t belong here with you—,”

“You don’t do that anymore,” Steve interrupts. He eases back, holding you by the shoulders, as if afraid that you’ll bolt from him. You feel your tears spill over and slip down your cheeks; you could not have stopped them if you tried. “Y/N, you chose to leave that life and join us, to work with us and improve yourself and to be a better person. That is real, that is meaningful. You are not just a monster…” he insists, pressing his lips against your forehead as he draws you in close once more, “...you are a good person, Y/F/N.” Steve’s hands tilts your face up, and he kisses away the tear tracks on your cheeks. “And you belong here, where you are loved.”

And then, he kisses you.

You have kissed people before—boys, girls, whatever the mission required, whatever kept the demons at bay—but never had it felt like this.

Your senses feel heightened; you can trace every scent of Steve’s aftershave, can feel every bristle of his beard, stubbornly trying to grow back. He is firm but tender, driving home every word he had just spoken, communicating everything else he cannot say. Steve’s hands thread into your hair at the base of your neck, gently tilting your head further back. You open beneath his touch; your arms come around his waist to press your bodies closer together. You kiss him back desperately, wildly, begging for more, and soon, you are devouring each other, body and soul.

When you pause to catch your breath, you look into Steve’s eye. In the blue of his irises you see your own reflection and, for the first time, you think maybe you can have something good in your life.

"Will you...will you stay with me tonight?" you ask.

Steve blinks at you, heated and hazy with desire. He smiles then, a gentle curve of his soft mouth. "Of course, Y/N," he says. God, you love the way he says your name. After a heartbeat, he adds, "Always."

Without speaking, Steve follows you into the elevator and up to your bedroom. The top floors of the Avengers Tower are all dormitories; spacious rooms for the various friends and members of the team. Yours is on the topmost floor, in the corner, overlooking Brooklyn. Steve is enraptured by the glimpse of his childhood home; he moves to stand by the window and watches the moonlight flicker off the Brooklyn rooftops.

“I grew up over there,” he says, pointing to a collection of apartment buildings not too far from the bridge. You move to stand behind him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his back.

“I know,” you say, quietly, “that’s why I picked this room.” Steve turns in your arms to smile down at you, before pressing a quick, light kiss to your lips. You smile against his mouth, then take his hand and shyly lead him to your bed. In comfortable silence, you look at each other across your mattress. Steve shrugs out of his flannel and slides out of his long jeans, revealing a pair of plain black briefs. After a breathless moment, he pulls off the shirt as well; a set of army tags rests against a hard muscled, lean body, born from years of fighting. Following his lead, you pull off your sweater and shorts, revealing a white, lacy bra, black panties, and scars.

You kneel on the bed and move across it on your knees, your eyes never leaving his. Suddenly afraid of what seems to be happening between the two of you, Steve goes still. Gently, you rest a hand against the dog tags, the cool metal brushing your fingers, a juxtaposition against the heat of Steve’s bare skin. Just as tenderly, he reaches out and brushes the hair back from your face, his fingers lingering on the scars along your shoulder.

"Steve, I—," you start to say, but words fail when he looks at you with those beautiful, blue eyes. You just want him, want to show him how much he means to you, and damn the consequences.

You are a beautiful disaster, a falling star destined to be lost to the galaxy forever.

You close your eyes and lift your face to his and Steve, understanding what you want, what he wants too, lowers his lips to kiss you.

"Are you sure?" you ask, softly. You have fallen down into bed together; his hands are in your hair, your legs are tangled in his.

"Yes," Steve whispers back, throatily. "Are you?"

"Yes," you murmur back, thinking you have never been more sure of anything in your entire life, and you kiss him again. 

You come together, two people who had waited for something—someone—for so long, who suddenly feel like there couldn’t possibly be anyone else in the world, or in time. You kiss hungrily, as if you could devour one another, pressing deeply into the sheets, into each other’s skin. Your mouth moves from Steve’s lips to his jaw; your tongue touches sensually against his ear, before tracing dangerous patterns down his throat. Steve’s hands grip desperately at your hips; he lets out a low moan as your lips become teeth, and you nip against the sensitive skin along his collarbone. You lean against him, pinning him to the bed, as you climb on top of his body, pressing your most private places together. Your hands trace the patterns of his abs, skating lower and lower, tugging off his briefs, before touching him where he is long and hard.

You briefly panic at the thought of that inside of you, but then Steve half gasps, half groans with pleasure, and suddenly you are giggling, enjoying the power you have over him. Steve playfully glares at you, until you distract him by moving your hand in slow, pumping movements. His eyes flicker shut as he falls back against your pillow, reveling in the feeling of your hand on him, of your wet panties against his thigh.

Seeming to decide that it is his turn to pleasure you, Steve reaches out and deftly flips you onto your back, pressing you down against the mattress with his weight. He catches your lip between his teeth; your gasp turns to hitched, uneven breathing, as Steve begins kissing down your sternum, hands brushing across your breasts, nipping at the arch of your hip. Gently, he parts your legs, tracing teasing kisses along the inside of your thigh. He glances up at your once, a silent ask for permission, but you are already arching back, closing your eyes against the sweet burn of anticipation.

"Steve...” you gasp, when he finally tastes you, burying his face between your legs. You have never known anything like it, you can only gasp and shiver and beg him for more. Steve brings you to the edge and over, and you can barely form a thought. You are a muddled mess in his hands, at the mercy of his tongue.

"Mhm, you taste good," Steve mumbles, nuzzling your neck and kissing your just beneath your ear. You are surprised he is capable of such talk. “I like how you sound when I make you orgasm.”

You growl at him, and Steve laughs. The laugh quickly turns to a choke, as you push him over, putting yourself on top of him, pinning him to the bed. Steve stares up at you, breath stolen away by your brazenness, the sight of your full, naked self on top of him. You smirk down at him, kiss him once, deeply, before sliding down his lap, moving your lips to his dick. Steve can barely stop himself from crying out as you take him all the way into your mouth. He can feel your tongue twining around him; he runs his hands through your hair, holding it back from your face. As you lick and suck and twist, Steve’s heavy breathing turns to groans and he shifts and stirs beneath you.

Just when you think you might get him off, his hands are on you, pulling you back up to him.

"But, I want to keep—," you protest.

"I know,” he pants, “But I—I want to—I need you,” he stammers, almost helplessly.

You understand, pulling him down to lie beside you once more. The two of lie back in bed, suddenly slow and gentle after the frenzy of the foreplay. You kiss each other a few more times, savoring the moment, hands everywhere, reveling in the feeling of being together. Steve catches your eyes with his own.

"Are you ready?" he asks, softly. He is so patient, so gentle with you; it means more than you can possibly say that he asks every time.

Without speaking, you nod, and Steve slips inside of you, filling you completely. It is the most pleasurable thing you have ever felt, balancing on the sweet border between pleasure and pain. It feels almost surreal to be one with him; to feel his hand smooth back your hair and press kisses along your jaw as you moan, adjusting to his width.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, his expression worried. 

Yes, yes I’m okay, I’m with you, you think, but you cannot speak, so you pull his face down to yours and kiss him again, long with desire, hard enough to bruise.

Steve pumps against you, stirring another gasp of pleasure from your mouth. He crooks an arm under your knee, pulling you up so he can move even deeper inside of you. He grunts and you moan and nothing, nothing else in the entire world matters other than the two of you, together. You make love as wildly and passionately as you could, and then again, softer and gentler, taking your time. 

And afterwards, you rest against Steve's chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you drift off to sleep in the comfort of each other’s arms. For the first time in years, you don’t have nightmares.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

There’s a knock at your door, quickly followed by the squeak of hinges. “Up and at ‘em, Y/N, it’s training time—oh!...oh.”

You struggle to wakefulness as Steve jolts up beside you. You glance over your shoulder to see Natasha in the doorway, her surprised expression quickly turning to a smirk. Beside you, you can feel Steve blush horribly as he scrambles to cover you both with blankets.

“About damn time,” Natasha snickers.

“Romanov!” Steve growls, embarrassed.

“What? I just came in to get Y/N! I had no idea you two were...busy,” she replies, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Natasha,” you say, pleasantly, “I will kill you slowly if you don’t get out right now.”

Natasha just cackles some more; Steve ends up throwing a pillow at her to banish her from your room. You can’t even be mad as you snuggle back under the blankets with Steve. He grumbles something about pain in the ass spies and ex-assassins, and you swat at him because hey, and then he’s tickling you and kissing you again and all of a sudden, you realize what true happiness is.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

FIN.


	2. everlong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers X fem!insert. How do you hold onto happiness? All your life it has slipped through your fingers, like sand in a breeze off the ocean. You are still trying to figure out this whole good guy thing. Hero thing. Girlfriend thing. Maybe happiness isn't sustainable. Maybe it's learning to hold onto this one, single moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title: everlong  
> pairing: Steve Rogers/Captain America x Reader  
> disclaimer: I do not own anything in the MCU.  
> notes: Another shameless slut chapter to accompany the first because this is how I cope with stressful job hunting!!

You duck Steve’s punch, following it with a hard upswing to his jaw. He dodges it, but barely, and traps your legs with his own, forcing you to bend backwards, painfully. A thrill goes through you; there is something so intoxicating about sparring with him. It’s almost as intimate as your nights together. You catch his eye and, despite the panting, the sweat, the fighting, the training, you can tell he is thinking the same thing. 

You smirk at him; a dangerous, flirtatious smirk, and let the resistance flow out of you body, going almost boneless in Steve’s grip. He shoots you a confused look, but you’ve already slipped free. You flip backwards, your legs coming up to lock around his neck. You twine yourself around him, punching downwards, the force of your momentum carrying you both to the ground. 

Sam laughs from his position outside the ring. “Oh man, Cap,” he snickers, “aren’t you the one always talkin’ about staying focused?”

You press a quick, light kiss to Steve’s cheek, before untangling yourself. Steve tries to glower at you, but it doesn’t quite work; his frown turns to a smile as you trot away. 

“Clocked in at four minutes and 35 seconds,” Natasha reports, glancing up from your training records. “You’re improving, Y/N. Good work, you’re done for the day.”

You flash her an appreciative smile as you finish wiping off the sweat. You’ve made it a personal goal to continue to improve your hand to hand combat; your old training relied to heavily on guns on weaponry. Part of your training is to spar the other Avengers on site. Your time beating Steve has improved, but you suspect he is holding back. Nat is still able to knock you down; she's too quick and unpredictable. When you spar with Wanda, it's difficult to anticipate what her enhancement will do, and you're pretty evenly matched with Sam when it comes to target practice. 

“Wanda, Vision, you’re up,” Natasha calls. Wanda passes by you (she's the only one that spars Vision) and the two of you exchange a quick high five. You’ve grown closer with the scarlet witch ever since you agreed to train at the compound after that Ultron mess. You’d been happy to stay behind with Sam when they all went off to fight the crazy murder bot.

“You know,” you say, glancing sideways at Steve as you leave the training room together. “You’re going to have to stop going easy on me one of these days.” Steve jabs at one of the buttons, and then you are on your way to the room the two of you share.

_Your room_ \- you still can’t quite believe it. The others have quietly accepted the fact that you and Captain America share a room, one of the few bedroom suites in a building designed as an army training camp. It feels strange to call Steve your boyfriend. The word feels too simplistic after everything you have been through, everything you feel for each other.

The bedroom is a soft blue with hints of lavender in the paint; Steve’s suit hangs next to yours in the walk in closet, along with all of your training gear and plain clothes. There is a desk for Steve, where he keeps his sketchbooks, pencils, and files all neatly organized. There's small keyboard for you, with music books stacked in the corner and piled high on your night stand. 

“I hold back with everyone,” Steve replies, stripping off his training gear. He is shirtless except for the dog tags he always wears (you figured out awhile ago that one is his, and one is his lost friend, Bucky's) and drops into a sitting position to take off his boots. You eye the span of his back appreciatively, wondering if you’ll ever stop having such an instant, heated reaction to his bare body.

“I don’t want you to hold back with me,” you murmur, allowing a cadence of seductiveness to creep into your voice. You’ve stripped of you gear as well. Dressed only in panties and a bra, you move forward to slide your arms around Steve’s shoulders. You press against him, making it so your hair to fall over your shoulder, spilling against his skin.

“Mhm,” Steve murmurs, inhaling your familiar, warm scent. You can feel his pulse picking up as you run your hands down his arms. “You might regret saying that,” he says, flirtatiously, dangerously. 

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can speak, Steve has grabbed you, flipping you over his shoulder, pinning you against the wall. You gasp, but then Steve’s mouth is covering your own and you’re kissing, wildly, passionately, desperately. You lock your legs around his waist, dragging a hand through his hair, the only thing keeping you upright being his arms around your waist, his body pressed against yours.

For a moment, Steve pauses, as if to memorize the sight of you, half naked, pressed against the wall. You get this feeling sometimes, when he looks at you like that, like he’s taking a mental picture to hold on to, in case there ever comes a day where you are not together. You suppose it's a side effect of being an Avenger, forever waiting for the next tragedy, the next mission, which could easily be anybody's last. 

“You’re beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers. With his hands pressed into the wall, Steve leans in and touches a kiss to your cheek, a sweet moment amidst the heated desire. “And smart,” he adds, moving to kiss your other cheek. “And strong,” he says, kissing your nose. You giggle, twining your arms around his neck, tightening your legs against his waist. Steve’s breath catches as he murmurs, “I...am captivated by you.”

His hands move to grab your waist; he jerks hard, his strength still controlled as he spills you onto the bed you share. Steve’s body covers yours, and your fingers dip dangerously below the waistline of his briefs, teasingly close but not quite touching him. Steve groans, as if he can no longer keep himself up, and presses down against you. You hum happily as his body weighs you down, deep into the mattress. 

Steve runs his fingers through your hair as he kisses you again, more deeply and desperately than before. You crook your leg around his waist, pressing your centers closer together, your hands moving to trace lines of heat down along back. Steve groans again as you circle your hips against him; you gasp as his kisses move down you neck, over your shoulders. He pushes your bra aside and takes your nipple into his mouth, both of you lost in the pleasure of the sensation.

“Steve,” you breathe, as he teases one with his tongue and the other with his fingers. You feel yourself writhing with pleasure, heat pooling in you core; Steve can feel you wet against him.

“Mhm, I like these,” he murmurs, his voice throaty with desire. You’re suddenly helpless with laughter and lust as he shows you just how much he likes your breasts. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are? God, in that tight training suit...I can’t think around you.”

“Are you talking to me, or my boobs?” you laugh, but before he can answer, you press against his hips, signaling that you want him to roll off of you. He is much stronger than you of course, but you like to imagine that your will is stronger than his, because he bends to it. Steve rolls onto his back as you move onto his lap; his hands immediately come up to wrap around your waist and you press your palms against his pecks.

Steve parts his lips to speak, but you silence him with a kiss. You are still starry-eyed over his body, but you refuse to be submissive. You want to show him how much you want him, even still, after all this time, every day, forever. So you begin kissing down his neck, down his chest, trading kisses for love bites on the skin you know is sensitive. Steve shudders beneath your touch as you squirm down his body, eventually coming to rest between his legs, running you tongue under the waistband of his briefs, your fingers pressed teasingly against his thighs.

You pause, flicking you eyes up to his, a silent ask for permission. “Y/N,” Steve breathes, pushing his hands into you hair, falling back against the pillows.

You take this as a yes and yank his briefs off. His cock springs free, as hard as a rock, throbbing with need for you. You lightly kiss the tip, then dip your tongue out to brush against the sensitive skin.

“Unfh,” Steve groans, his eyes screwed shut. 

You slide your mouth all around his cock, making sure it’s sopping wet with your saliva. He touches the back of your throat; you force yourself to breathe through your nostrils as you work him. You put your hand around the base and pump as you swirl with your tongue, while Steve pulls at you hair, his fingers digging your scalp, the pain melding with the pleasure of him helpless beneath your touch. 

You suck him off for a few minutes, before Steve roughly grabs you again, pulling you off of him, and spills you next to him. You can barely blink, barely catch your breath, before he’s yanking your panties off and plunging two fingers inside of you. You cry out as his thumb touches against your clit, flicking it and teasing circles around it, his fingers pumping inside you. You are both breathing heavily, drunk with desire, intoxicated by each other, and then Steve is nudging your legs further apart, and lowering his face to your center.

“Oh my God,” you moan, as his tongue dives into you wet folds. You are lost immediately; bewitched by the spell his tongue works over you. You float through the sky, touch stars and see the universe beneath you eyelids, as he coaxes you higher and higher, before you come crashing back to your body in a rush of heat.

Steve raises his head, and you think you might always remember that smirk on his face, the clear blue of his eyes, peering up at you over your mound. You fall back against the pillows, a boneless mess, languid and high on you post-orgasm feeling.

“You ok, Y/N?” Steve murmurs, nuzzling into you neck, pressing kisses beneath you ear.

“Mhm,” you purr, running you hand up his body. He catches it in his own, and threads his fingers through yours as you lightly kiss for a bit. That is, until his erection pushes against your thigh, a stabbing reminder of his need, his desire.

“Are you ready?” Steve asks, meeting your gaze with his own. He searches your expression seriously, as if to ascertain your capacity. He asks every time, forever the kind gentlemen from the 1940s. It warms your heart.

“Yes,” you moan, not even caring that it sounds like you are begging.

With a sudden wild, ferocious grin, Steve kisses you hard, then moves to cover his body with your own. You guide him inside you, and when the two of you finally came together as one, you both breathe as if the entire universe has converged for this single moment of pure bliss. Then Steve is pumping against you and groaning your name, and you are swearing like a sailor as he fills you. You moved together, settling into a slow, steady rhythm, then Steve beings to pick up pace, until he is ramming into you, and you are crying out, begging him for more, gasping his name. You are both covered in your own sweat, your lust for each other banishing the thought of anything other than this feeling.

Steve holds himself inside of you as he rolls onto his back, putting you on top. You dig your heels into the mattress and move up and down his cock, dripping wet. Steve sits up; pressing your torsos together as he guides your hips under his hands. And as you hold each other, him thrusting against your movement, you find the stars again and Steve growls your name just before he follows you over the edge.

You stay like that for a few moments, sitting up in bed, holding each other, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasms. You kiss him once on the lips, then his cheek, then climb off and head to the bathroom to clean up a bit. When you return, cold water splashed on you face and hair a little less insane, dressed in pajama shorts and one of Steve’s shirts, you lean against the wall, taking in the sight of a naked Captain America in the bed you share.

“Hey,” he mumbles, grinning at you. Its his post-sex smirk, one that you are very familiar with now. He is the picture of a satisfied man: one arm thrown back behind his head, sheets twisted over his legs. 

“Hey back,” you reply, and you think, _I will let myself be happy with him_.

“C’mere,” Steve says, opening his arms to you. With a smile, you go to him immediately, playfully jumping onto the mattress. The two of you laugh for a bit, tangled in the sheets, tickling each other, exchanging light, flirty kisses which quickly turned to round two, which was just as sweetly wild as the first time. 

When you go to shower, Steve won’t let you go. “I’m gross,” you protest, as he burrows into you side, holding you against him. 

“Don’t care,” Steve declares. 

Smiling, you allow him his cuddles. You aren’t usually a huge snuggler, but Steve is clearly the exception to every rule you have ever had. You turn in his arms and press against him, your nose finding the dip in his collarbone, where you rub it playfully.

Steve groans, “I love when you do that.”

“I know,” you giggle, “that’s why I do it.”

You are quiet for a moment, just naked and together in the room you share. The sounds of the compound echo outside; troops running laps and captains calling orders and, ever so faintly, the sound of machines and technology and the hum of magic. You refuse to look at a clock; you did not want to have any idea how many hours, minutes, seconds you have left with this man and instead promise yourself that no matter how long it lasts, you will be happy with Steve by your side. 

Steve drifts off soon after, like he always does. Fighting Nazis, taking down governments, punching planes out of the sky - no problem, he could do that all day. But sex? Captain America immediately needs his nap after sex. You rest your chin against his chest, smiling up at the sleeping face of the man who holds your heart.

"I love you," you whisper, knowing he cannot hear.

Maybe someday you'll be brave enough to say it to him when he is awake. But for now, this is enough.


	3. iris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world was on fire, then it was ashes and dust. You, and everyone else, gone in a single snap. Brought back to fight again - to live again - at great cost. And now you're standing by a lake with the love of your life, and he is going back in time, and you don't know if he will ever come back, and you don't know how to ask him to stay.
> 
> _when everything's made to be broken, i just want you to know who i am_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title: iris (i just want you to know who i am)  
> pairing: Steve Rogers/Captain America x Reader  
> disclaimer: I do not own anything in the MCU or the blink-and-you'll-miss-it references to other literary works.  
> notes: okiieeee no super smut in this chapter just good old fashioned FLUFFFFF and with that this little work is FIN. hope you enjoy 0:) and if you feel like, please send me prompts!! i am trying very hard to get back into my fanfiction writing, and could always use encouragement :)

Some days, you cannot believe that the sun still rises and the world still turns and life continues on.

But it did. And it does.

There is still a lot of recovery happening—schools and governments and society itself having to be rebuilt—after five years of...whatever you want to call it. Dusted, death, disappeared, gone, just gone...all because of the Mad Titan.

No one says his name. Instead, they sing Tony’s. And Natasha’s. Iron Man and Black Widow, who sacrificed their lives to bring everybody back, to reassemble the stones, to banish the Mad Titan and his forces to dust, the way he had to you, and Bucky, and Sam.

That is who you stand with now, as your beloved Captain America prepares for the mission of putting the Stones back. Bucky watches him carefully, much like a caged wolf, and not for the first time, you think the Wakandan name for the Winter Soldier isn’t too far off. Sam stands over by Professor Hulk, as you have all taken to calling Banner, clearly feeling anxious at being left behind. He chats easily and makes a joke, offering to go with Steve into the past again—and again and again.

Sam does not understand. Not completely.

But Bucky does.

And so do you.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Steve says, sharing a reluctant grin with Bucky, an echo of a phrase from a hundred years ago.

“How can I?” the Winter Soldier replied, gruffly, sadly. “You’re talking all the stupid with you.”

They embrace, exchanging a few quiet words that are not meant for your ears. 

Steve turns to you, his blue eyes sending a jolt through you even still. “Y/N,” he murmurs, taking you into his arms. You go willingly, freely, desperately, because, sometimes, when you looked into his eyes, when he holds you in his arms, you think he might be a stranger. And perhaps you had never really known him at all.

“Be safe,” you say, because in the end, you’re still a coward and even now, after everything, you cannot say the words, the truth, out loud.

You love him. Steve Rogers. Captain America. Nomad. Whatever he calls himself, wherever he goes in the world, in the universe, in time—you love him. You wildly, desperately, stupidly, wonderfully love with him.

And he might not come back to you.

Steve presses a light kiss to your forehead, and claps Bucky on the back once more, before stepping up onto the platform. He picks up Thor’s hammer with ease these days, barely blinking in wonderment that this is an actually physical representation of how good he is. Steve gets into position as Professor Hulk hits a few more buttons, marking the time.

Bucky looks at you for the first time, and you see every bit of your fear reflected there, in his gray eyes. You both know that Steve might not come back. He has not said anything—not to you anyway—about it. He has not voiced his plans to return to the past and find the woman he used to call out for in the middle of the night. 

But he could.

And he might.

And you are so very terrified that you will lose him. You could not possibly imagine what it’s been like for Steve these past five years, having lost you, Bucky, and Sam, watching all three of you fade to dust after The Snap. He had soldiered on with what remained, and brought everyone back—brought you back to him—only to lose Natasha and Tony in the process, the only other family he had had. You could not blame him for going back; you could not be angry with him for wanting to find a quiet, peaceful life in the past, when nobody knew what the hell to do now, in the future. 

“You could stop him,” Bucky says, so quietly that Sam and Steve and Professor Hulk can’t hear. "You could ask him to stay."

“No,” you whisper back, “I can’t.”

“Y/N,” Bucky insists, but you interrupt him

“If he wants to go, I have to let him,” you say, though it kills you to admit. And you, the hard ass assassin, you who have trained your entire life not to feel, not to show any emotions whatsoever—you start to cry. Not wildly, or desperately—you do not scream or cry out or make a sound. Your eyes fill with silent tears; one spills out of the corner of your eyes, quickly followed by two more. 

Because, in your heart of hearts, you know if you tell Steve how you feel, if you finally let down that wall and tell him _please don’t go, stay with me, stay here, I love you_ —then he would stay. And you would just be another thing that Steve gave away from himself. All of his life, Steve has given to others—Bucky, the Army, SHIELD, the Avengers—and he has never left anything  
for himself. This choice, whether to stay or to go, had to be entirely his, so that, for the first time in a long time, Captain America could have chose what he wanted his life to be. 

You know all of this.

It does not make it any easier, as the time machine fires up and zaps him out of your timeline.

“And returning in five...four...three...two…” Professor Hulk says, but then there is no returning buzz, no Steve Rogers re-appearing, no happy reunion. Bucky is quiet next to you, Sam is heckling Professor Hulk, who babbles about missed checkpoints and having no idea what happened.

Realization sets in.

You close your eyes in despair. The world can hear the shattering of your heart.

_He's gone._

You turn away as Sam’s heckling turns to shouting, looking towards the lake that mirrors the sky. 

And then—

“Y/N?”

A brief panic seizes you. Your first thought is that you’re going crazy. Maybe you passed out and this is a dream. Maybe you’ve died and this is heaven. But whatever it is, wherever you are, you don’t want to wake up, you don’t want to blink, because there he is, standing in front of you, a little late, but much the same—there he is, whole and healthy and young.

Barely able to breathe, you gasp, “Steve?”

And then he’s opening his arms to you, and you are running to him, and Bucky and Sam and Professor Hulk are watching in confusion but you don’t care, you can’t see anyone or anything other than him. Steve envelops you tightly as you leap into his embrace. Your hair falls forward, covering both of your faces, as your legs wrap around his waist and you cling to him. Steve peppers you with kisses until you find each other’s lips, and then you are kissing, once, twice, three times.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” you whisper, as tears pool in your eyes and Steve lowers you back to the ground. You don’t say it to be accusatory, you just want to understand this whole, wonderful man and the choices he's made.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” Steve says, his eyes flickering away from yours. “I put the Stones back, and then I went to see Peggy.”

It is the first time he says her name out loud to you. 

“I got to see her and talk to her and we had our dance,” he explains, and you’re not sure what any of that means as he continues, “and I realized...I can’t do it anymore.” You stop, afraid you’ve misunderstood wildly, suddenly terrified that he has come back only to leave again. But then, Steve says, “I can’t be Captain America anymore. Or an Avenger. Not without Tony and Nat. No more fighting or missions or shield.” 

Steve steps out of your embrace and towards Sam. He holds out in the vibranium shield that has been as much a part of him as anything else. Sam looks at Bucky, then you, then Steve with a kind of crazy disbelief, a touch of fear. But then, as Sam takes the shield, it is resolve, determination, and the ferocity of spirit in his eyes that made him Falcon in the first place, worthy to fight at Captain America's side. 

It's a good choice.

“How does it feel?” Steve asks, stepping back to stand beside you.

“Like someone else’s,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“It’s not,” Steve says, in his simple way. 

Sam looks at him once more and says, “I’ll do my best.”

“I know,” Steve replies, with a smile, “that’s why it’s yours.”

And then Steve is turning back to you, and you realize, for the first time, that he is afraid, too. That he thinks if he lays down his shield and is no longer Captain America that you might not want to be with him anymore. He went to Peggy for guidance, for answers—and found them.

And he still came back.

“You’re my home, Y/N,” Steve says, spreading his hands. “I belong here, with you. If you’ll still have me. Not as Captain America, but just as Steve Rogers, a man who loves you across time and space.”

You close the distance between yourself and the man you love. You take his hands in yours, tracing lines, across scars and skin. You lift his palms to your face and press a kiss to his knuckles, before looking up into his blue, blue eyes.

“You belong where you are loved,” you whisper, recalling the words he’d said to you a lifetime ago, when this thing between the two of you first began. “And I love you, Steve Rogers. For everything that you have been, everything you are, and everything you will be. I love you,” you say, and then Steve is kissing you and saying, “I love you, too,” and between kisses, in the shade of the maple trees, by the lake and beneath the sky, you say it again and again and again, over and over to each other, a thousand times.

 _I love you._

And life goes on.


End file.
